“The tree species Aesculus glabra is commonly known as Ohio buckeye, American buckeye, or fetid buckeye. It derives its unflattering common name from the disagreeable odor generated from the flowers, crushed leaves, broken twigs, or bruised bark.”
-Wikipedia Entry: Buckeyes
I’ll be honest: the only reason I Googled “buckeyes” was to find out what exactly Buckeyes were so I could come up with a clever title for today’s post. I knew they were some kind of plant, and I had a strong suspicion that they were some kind of nut. Having now discovered that the Ohio buckeye derives its unflattering common name from the disagreeable odor generated from its flowers, or any other injured portion of its overall organic structure, the possibility for clever titles on a game featuring the Ohio Buckeyes seems endless.
At the start of the 2nd quarter, I told A that the Ohio Buckeyes were known for their disagreeable odor. In response, he mentioned the practical use of the USC team name–more specifically, what it was wrapped around.
On the basis of nomenclature alone, this game is already doomed.
It’s Ohio 3, USC 14 with 11 minutes left in the 2nd quarter. Already, this is less of a slaughter than the game I saw on Monday. A is growing increasingly more concerned day by day that each team he supports is destined for suckiness in the annals of football history. First the Bengals, then the Raiders, now the Buckeyes?
As for me, I’ve picked up a few things. None as dramatic as the day I learned what those bright orange sticks were for, or the day I found out what “first down” meant (this was the same day). It’s actually incredible how little I know about the game that has been transmitted to my living room every September through Whenever of my entire childhood.
I also know that that yellow handkerchief means there’s some kind of foul, and I’ve also learned that this handkerchief is often kept inside the crotchal zone of the white pants of the Refs on duty. Still, I have not learned to discern what causes the tossing of this yellow “flag.” Sometimes it is a false start, and sometimes it is offsides. Sometimes it is unnecessary roughness. There are various other reasons. Some day I will find out what they mean.
I find myself wondering how long it takes too put on the padding each players have. Are the pants so tight because they need to hold the padding in place?
I just asked A. He said I was right. Also, he said that flappy clothing would be unsafe. You know what else is unsafe? 250lb+ men wearing cleats and tackling each other at a full run.
The Raiders game was fun, and not only because there was gin involved. I should mention that, unfortunately, half of our gin supply was sequestered at the gate of the stadium. Apparently security is especially high at the Oakland Coliseum (who knew?) and the guards patted everyone down with a fervor that the TSA only wishes they could instill in their airport security employees. A walked into the stadium with a small flask of gin in each sock. Unfortunately, one of his socks was Raided.
We made our way to the top of the coliseum, which was basically at the 50 yard line, although I guess technically it was the 35th but it seemed central enough. We were right above where the team runs out amid the energetic pom pom shuffling of the Raiderettes–whose name, incidentally, is a bit demeaning if you ask me. They should be the Co-Raiders. There’s no room for pejorative nicknames in professional sports. Just ask Jared Lorenzen. (Actually, if Jared Lorenzen’s in any kind of confined space, there’s not much room for anything…)
An update on this live-blogging NFL sports report: With 2:49 left in the 2nd quarter, its Ohio 3, USC 21. Lookin’ good, Buckeyes.
The coach for the Buckeyes is a good looking, distinguished man. A little on the short side.
Momentary distraction–back to the Raiders game. Reasonably buzzed, with a delicious Coliseum Dog in my belly (they ARE delicious, I could have had three) I witnessed the decided triumph of the Denver Broncos over the Oakland Raiders. I also witnessed the decided trouncing of one fan over another in an audience fight, but after the police got involved there wasn’t much to see. Typical.
We ended up leaving at the end of the third quarter, after seeing the Raider’s first (and, if memory serves, only) touchdown of the night. After a momentous BART ride home, A and I returned safe and sound to his apartment, where I learned (a few times) that a professional football team should not attempt “double-reverse trickery” when their previous two plays were failures.
Go Oakland!
